All In the Plan
by L.Pupper
Summary: Patroclus has been chosen to marry Prince Achilles, forging an alliance between ever-expanding Phthia and his father's kingdom, Opus. As a royal consort, Patroclus has to learn the ins and outs of establishing his status as a member of Peleus' court, including keeping the favor of Achilles amongst many others vying for the prince's affections.
1. Chapter 1

Patroclus woke up to the smell of burning incense. This was it. Today was the day. His thoughts swam in his head, watery images of the journey to Phthia, the welcome ceremony at the royal palace, and a face belonging to none other than the Crown Prince. _Achilles._ Today, he would be married to the future king of Phthia.

They had met once, a long time ago, when Patroclus was no more than a boy, and the Crown Prince barely a youth. Patroclus and his father had traveled to Phthia in honor of King Peleus, to celebrate the alliance between Phthia and Scyros. Each representing kingdom had brought gifts to the king. Patroclus vaguely remembered his father's scrutinizing stare scorching his back as he slowly made his way to the dais, carefully balancing the lyre in his arms.

Peleus' son had received it. Patroclus had been too preoccupied to pay full attention to the golden child of Phthia, but he had glanced up for a second. He had been met with a pair of green eyes.

This was a vague memory, but Patroclus turned to it now, fishing it out of the recesses of his mind and clasping it for comfort. He had no idea what the prince looked like now, but those eyes continued their gaze at him, unwavering.

Briseis smiled at him and squeezed his shoulder when he finally found the energy to trudge into the baths. He had been at the border house for three days, resting from his journey and preparing for the wedding entourage. He felt slightly consoled knowing Briseis would be part of the entourage, and would remain at the royal palace as his chief attendant until he chose his own among the Phthian servants.

He was bathed and groomed with scented oils, Briseis brushing his hair back and sweeping it out of his face. Phthians did not style their hair like Opians did, it was traditional to wear it loose, even during official ceremonies. He put on the Phthian wedding garments, not unlike the ones he had seen in Opus, but still, he had left everything from Opus behind. He was to be a royal consort of Phthia.

The garments were bright red, and he felt out of place in them. He had never worn vibrant colors in Opus. He didn't think it flattered him, but Briseis insisted he was as beautiful as ever. He hoped his future husband would agree with her.

The entourage to the palace was a long line of Opian soldiers and nobility who had volunteered to accompany their Lord Menoetius' son to his wedding. Patroclus himself, clad in his matrimonial robes, boarded the litter that would carry him to the ceremonial hall. He had been to this hall once before, the day he had met Prince Achilles.

Patroclus looked down at his hands, which were balled into fists and had started to grow sweaty. The smell of the perfumed oils he wore was starting to suffocate him. He breathed deeply, trying to think of Briseis at the front of the line of attendants walking behind his litter. She would surely have her head held high, staring evenly ahead. He wished he had even an ounce of her dignified pride.

The deafening buzz of the crowds surrounding the hall swarmed his ears as the litter was placed outside the entrance. Patroclus stepped outside, taking the arm of his guardsman who would escort him to the gateway. He tried not to look too long at the Phthian people, commoners, who had gathered to catch even the faintest glimpse of their prince's betrothed. Reaching the gateway, the guardsman bowed, feet firmly planted at the threshold, forbidden from another step.

Patroclus bowed back to his guard, and began his walk down the aisle, where he would be received by his soon-to-be husband, father-in-law, and their chosen witnesses at the marriage altar. It was a longer walk then he thought. He could see them already, outlines of figures dressed in royal colors at the very end. The aisle opened into an atrium where the altar was located, and seated in tiers overlooking it were Phthia's nobility. He broke out into a cold sweat, but his feet continued their advancement.

There was Peleus, tall and proud, dressed in ocean blue robes, his gold crown atop his ageing head. Patroclus thought he imagined the elderly king decline his head in the slightest of nods. The king's gaze was fixed on him now, gleaming with an emotion Patroclus couldn't decipher. He remembered Peleus as a handsome man, of middle age, with a loud booming laugh and kind eyes, who had embraced his father warmly and nodded at him with approval as they exchanged gifts, all those years ago.

And there, a little ways away from Peleus, was his son. _Achilles._ Patroclus tried to meet the prince's stare, as intent and unyielding as he remembered. Patroclus felt small and irrelevant as he shrunk under Achilles' assessing eyes, which seemed to be taking his measure, roving over his form and the red garments he wore, coming back up to meet again. It was then that Achilles smiled – not a kind smile, not warm or inviting as he reached out and offered his hand to Patroclus. Patroclus knew it well enough from his father's own smiles towards foreign princes and ambassadors at court. It was a diplomatic smile, to show their audience he would play his part.

Patroclus hesitated, glancing at Peleus, who beckoned at the priest to begin the ceremony. The atrium and its watchful spectators seemed to pulsate in the silence. The priest began, speaking in the Old Phthian tongue, one that Patroclus had had to study when his father announced he would be sent to Phthia. He had gotten quite good at it, and could make out the ancient words being spoken. Sacred words. Words that would bind him to Achilles for the rest of his life, and its latter days.

Achilles' hand was large and warm around his. They had broken their eye contact, and were facing the priest. The rest of the ceremony was a haze. Patroclus was woken in a stupor as he felt the cold metal of a cup being pressed on his palm. Achilles was staring at him again, expectantly. He was to drink the wine from the cup. Afterwards, they poured libations to the gods, and the priest smoked the altar with burning herbs. Weddings in Phthia were so _strange._ In Opus, there would not have even been a ceremony. The feast would start immediately, the wedded pair already having made their prayers and sacrifices in their respective temples beforehand. There would be a large banquet in their honor, while they sat on the wedding dais as their guests took turns presenting gifts.

There _was_ a feast, in Peleus' courtyard, after the ceremony. Achilles, his hand still ahold of Patroclus' led him to the courtyard, and the guests followed in a procession. The ruckus began. They took their seats at the head of the table, one on either side of Peleus. Peleus stood, welcoming the guests in his thunderous yet regal voice.

"Today we feast in honor of my son, our champion, Achilles!"

The crowd roared, raising their cups high into the air.

"We honor our brother Menoetius, who has given us a gift of the greatest regard.

Through his will, we welcome a consort for our champion, and therefore a consort of Phthia!"

There were more shouts of approval as the guests raised their cups even higher, some in Patroclus' direction.

Peleus did not mention his name once.

The feast was impressive indeed, Phthia once more proving the extent of her wealth. Patroclus spotted Briseis amongst the servants, but he could not speak to her, not when he was now the center of attention. Peleus engaged him in conversation, speaking of his father and matters of state. Achilles seemed engrossed in his own interactions with the guests, laughing raucously at their jokes, drinking cup after cup of wine, paying no heed to the performers who approached their table, juggling silver balls and twirling batons of fire, pretty dancers doing pirouettes in patterns.

Patroclus felt hypnotized by them, unable to fully enjoy his meal of roast boar and stewed figs, olive bread with various dipping oils, spiced fish and cardamom pods. He nodded at Peleus, trying to come up with polite replies that would appease the king. Peleus seemed satisfied enough, and by the end of the night was talking with his advisors, leaving Patroclus alone with his thoughts.


	2. Chapter 2

Briseis squeezed his hand as she fussed over his bedclothes, smoothing the sleeves of his robe. It was a silk one, amongst the few items from home he had been allowed to keep. It was a deep bronze color and embroidered with star patterns. They sat together in the dressing quarters connected to the main bedchamber. He and Prince Achilles would have separate chambers, of course, but for the wedding night, he would be expected to share Achilles' bed. "We shouldn't keep him waiting," Briseis whispered, twirling a strand of Patroclus' hair. He had been bathed and perfumed once more, to prepare him for the consummation. He nodded, letting go of Briseis' hand and entering the bedchamber. Achilles' bed was massive, taking up almost the entire room, four posts towering above it, with red and gold silk draped over the top and hanging low over the bed. Achilles was nowhere to be seen.

Trying to calm his nerves, Patroclus gingerly sat himself on the edge of the bed, feeling the mattress dip under his weight. He didn't know what he was more nervous about, exposing himself to a prince he barely knew, feeling the weight of Achilles' stare on his uncovered body… or seeing the prince for himself, revealed from head to foot, and him having to please… warmth rushed to his cheeks as his mind summoned images of what Achilles might ask him to do, what Achilles would do to him.

Achilles kept him waiting a while. He sat on the bed, fidgeting with his robe, when finally the prince emerged, silently, as if from nowhere. Patroclus started as Achilles' shadow fell over him. The prince still had not said a word to him. His own robe hung around him, so that his chest was bare. Patroclus allowed himself a peek at his now-husband. Achilles was at least a head taller than Patroclus himself, and now he towered above him. He was lean, yet muscular. The physique of a warrior. His hair fell around his face in messy blonde waves. Clearly, he had not taken as much care to groom himself for the wedding night. He hadn't needed to. He was magnificent, and Patroclus didn't know if he should look away, or keep watching. Achilles was eyeing him, shamelessly roaming the planes of Patroclus' body. There was a downward tilt to his mouth. Patroclus couldn't help thinking he looked unhappy. Perhaps he was dissatisfied with what he had gotten. Patroclus was no great beauty, he had the dark looks common to most Opian natives, and he was slight and scrawny compared to the soldiers in his father's army. Patroclus himself was no soldier, he had been bred to attend court and engage in politics, and even that he did not excel at. Yet Briseis complimented his large eyes and long eyelashes, and he had been told he was pleasing enough to look at. Perhaps the standards of beauty in Phthia were different. Golden hair and light eyes, perhaps that was what Achilles had desired.

Patroclus had been so deep in his thoughts, he hadn't noticed that Achilles had moved to cup his chin. Achilles' grip was firm, pushing Patroclus' face up as if to examine a piece of merchandise. Their eyes met, and Achilles slackened his hold, thumb smoothing over Patroclus' chin, his head cocked to one side, considering. He suddenly smiled, not the diplomatic smile from before, but a softer one. Slowly, he pulled Patroclus up so that he slid off the bed and stood on the floor. They stayed like that for a minute, facing one another, until Achilles put his arms around Patroclus so that they were chest to chest. Close up, his eyes were calculating, but not cold. They were as green as Patroclus had imagined. Achilles reached up to caress Patroclus' face. His touch was more tender than Patroclus had anticipated.

"It seems Opus has more to offer than I had imagined," Achilles spoke, his voice low in Patroclus' ear. Patroclus tried to return his touch, pressing his palms flat against Achilles' chest, feeling the warmth of his skin. Achilles grabbed his hands and brought them to the knot around his waist. Patroclus, trying to quell his trembling hands, untied it, and the robe fell to the polished floor. Achilles grinned. It was a wolf's grin, sly and dangerous. He removed Patroclus' robe, so they were both naked and pressed up against one another. Patroclus swallowed hard as he felt Achilles' hard length against his own. "Perhaps you can show me what you can do, sweet little Patroclus," Achilles whispered, his hand resting atop Patroclus' head, applying pressure so that Patroclus slowly sunk until he was on his knees. _He said my name_.

In a daze, Patroclus tentatively took Achilles into his mouth.

He had never felt more sober, yet intoxicated, in all his adult life. It was as though he had slipped out of his own body, and floated above passively watching himself pleasure Achilles, then being pulled up onto the bed so Achilles could prepare him. Yet his mind was alert, the image and sensation so raw and sharp, of Achilles filling his vision, weighing him down on the bed, his body warm and smooth and _good._ The nutty scent of the oil filling his nostrils as Achilles poured it over him, fumbling a little with the bottle, so that it got everywhere, on his thighs, his stomach…The sudden sting of Achilles' finger penetrating him, then a dull ache as he continued, at a fast yet surprisingly gentle pace. He would never be able to replicate the feeling when Achilles was fully seated inside him, a solid mass between his legs, and how the bed rocked, how his body lurched in rhythm, as Achilles fucked him into the mattress, as they made love…


	3. Chapter 3

Warning: Brief mention of mpreg.

"Wake up, Patroclus." Patroclus stirred at the sound of Briseis' whisper, her hand gently shaking him. Blinking to clear his vision, he slowly sat up, letting the silk sheets slide down his shoulders. Briseis handed him a dressing gown, placing slippers on the floor next to the bed. Her hasty, yet precise movements gave away her self-consciousness in entering a bedchamber that was not her master's. She hadn't even been this nervous the morning of Patroclus' wedding. It had been three days since then. Patroclus slid out of the bed, cringing a little at the mess from coitus, dried up on his skin and on the sheets. Briseis said nothing, taking his hand after he put on the dressing gown and slippers, and ushering out of the room. Achilles had a large bathing chamber connected to his sleeping quarters, but Briseis always led Patroclus back to his own room, further down the hallway.

The bath was already filled for him, the water lukewarm, and Briseis left him to clean himself up. The bath was large enough for him to sit with his legs stretched out, the water coming up to his chest. Soaps and oils were laid out on the side, along with long strips of white cloth to dry himself with.

"Machaon is here to see you," Briseis murmured in his ear as she helped him dress, tying the complicated knots on his new Phthian clothes and pinning the sides so they fit him better. Machaon was the Phthian ambassador his father had sent, to advise Patroclus on how to conduct himself in the Phthian palace and its court. Patroclus had taken lessons from his brother, Podalirius, prior to the wedding. Machaon's presence was always a forewarning of Patroclus' expected attendance at some court event.

He was waiting in the receiving room outside the bedchamber, and gave a deep bow as Patroclus entered. "Your highness." Patroclus nodded back, trying not to fidget as Machaon's eyes scanned his attire. He gave a little sniff of approval. "You will be expected to attend court today, for the procession of the army returning from the north. The king's generals will be presenting their reports." "What will be expected of me, ambassador?" Patroclus asked. "You will be seated to the right of the Crown Prince, as your place should always be. Afterwards there will be a celebration in honor of the troops' safe return, and you will join Prince Achilles in congratulating the generals." Patroclus nodded, taking it all in. "And your highness," Machaon added, even as he turned to go. "Remember that your place here will be determined by how you conduct yourself before the court. It may not seem like it now, but you are in an enviable position, and one that is not certain. Show them you are worthy of the honor."

The ceremony was long, taking place outside in the heat of the afternoon sun. King Peleus, Prince Achilles and Patroclus sat on the dais underneath the great royal canopy, the flag of Phthia waving on either side. The chair next to the king's left remained empty, as Patroclus had always remembered it. He didn't know much about the fabled queen or her departure, but King Peleus had never remarried, and made all public appearances without a companion, even though it was common for noblemen at court to show up with their favorite concubines at their side. Machaon had explained how it worked to Patroclus, the ascension of one's reputation and thus, value, at the royal court. It was a status symbol to be chosen to make public appearances alongside a person of importance, usually somebody who was highly regarded by the king. As Prince Achilles' royal consort, Patroclus immediately enjoyed the role of his husband's companion. But Machaon had warned him not to get too comfortable. Achilles, as Crown Prince, was naturally the most important person in Phthia, second only to the king, and the courtiers would stop at no lengths to win his attentions. If somebody else were to capture his interest, there would be no stopping Patroclus' fall from favor, and his withdrawal from public intrigue. Machaon had made it clear that this was a game, and it was Patroclus' responsibility to play the game better than anyone else, never giving Achilles a reason to replace him with another.

Patroclus had no idea how to do this, of course. The few days he'd spent at court had only given him the faintest glimpse of his competition, and he could already tell he was lagging behind. He might be Achilles' consort, and his primary companion now, but he lacked experience and the many charms the courtiers smoothly manipulated to rise through the ranks. At least he had the king's approval, Machaon had advised him to hold on to it, that there would be a time when the king's regard would be his only anchor, once Achilles found someone else to occupy his time. "Right now, you are the reason Phthia has Opus' support in Peleus' campaign. He has every reason to treat you with great notice. But there is one thing you can do to ensure your position with the king for good. And that is to produce an heir as soon as possible."

He contemplated this as the generals took turns presenting their reports. He had the mark, the bloodline carried down from his mother's family aligned with godly power that allowed him to carry. It was the reason his father had agreed to give him to the Phthians, even though he was the oldest son, and the only legitimate one. His father had named a new line of succession, through his heirs by lesser consorts. He remembered his father's words. "You may not become a king yourself, Patroclus, but you will ensure a scion of our blood will sit on the Phthian throne one day."

"Patroclus?" He started at the abrupt sound of Achilles' voice. The prince was leaning towards him, a hand held out. Tentatively, he took Achilles' hand. Achilles flashed him a conspiratorial smile. "You seem lost in your own thoughts." Patroclus sneaked a glance around him. Thankfully, no one else seemed to notice, including the king, who was in the midst of conversing with one of the generals who had concluded his report. "I… I was just thinking of the celebration later." Achilles led Patroclus down from the dais, servants trailing behind them. "You mean now? It's not as bad as you think. The soldiers will be happy enough to receive your congratulations." "We don't have these sorts of things in Opus," Patroclus confessed. "Or at least, it would be done in private with only the king and his advisors in attendance."

"Yes, we do like to make everything a public affair here," Achilles replied airily, still leading Patroclus by the hand. Patroclus glanced up at him, but the prince winked, showing he wasn't offended. Patroclus smiled back, and composed himself as the feasting began. It was not unlike the wedding feast, except less nobility were present, it was mostly the king's generals and lieutenants making a racket as they enjoyed the festivities, many coming up to the king's table to share their achievements that were not included in the official records, to give firsthand accounts of the battle at the northern front. Most of them spoke to Achilles as well, even joking with him. A few came up to Patroclus, introducing themselves and paying compliments. One of them was Lieutenant Automedon, who had been Achilles' charioteer when the prince had gone to battle, and was now on the way to becoming a general himself. He was among the youngest of the men at the feast, and was probably Patroclus' own age. He strode up to their table quietly, and was greeted with warm enthusiasm by Achilles, who immediately pulled him into an embrace. They exchanged greetings, and the sort of conversation between longtime friends. Then he turned to Patroclus.

"So, this is the one." Patroclus stood so that Automedon could take his hand. Their eyes met briefly as the young lieutenant kissed the back of his hand. Patroclus was unused to such familiarity while referring to him. Most of the others had just commented on the alliance with Opus and waited for Achilles to introduce his consort formally. But Achilles simply laughed, clapping Automedon on the arm. "It is a regret that you had to miss the wedding, my friend," Achilles replied. Automedon nodded, his eyes never leaving Patroclus' own. "I am Patroclus of Opus," Patroclus introduced himself, feeling foolish. Automedon smiled slightly, it didn't reach his eyes. "And I am Automedon son of Diores, your highness." His head turned slightly to acknowledge Achilles. "I have known our prince since childhood. I hope we get to know one another as well." Patroclus nodded, sneaking a glance at Achilles, who was already talking to another general. "Yes, I expect we will," he replied, trying to keep his voice steady as Automedon's eyes stared back at him in their dark intensity.


	4. Chapter 4

Patroclus' fingers were numb from grabbing the edge of the mattress. He sighed as Achilles kissed his neck, pressed up against his back, rocking him forwards and backwards in time to his thrusts. Achilles had woken him up that morning, before the sun had even risen, trailing kisses down his spine, hands wandering over his thighs and the backs of his legs. It was uncharacteristic of Achilles not to be up at the crack of dawn, already gone by the time Briseis came to collect Patroclus from the prince's bed. They had retired to his chambers the night before, after the celebrations with the army finally subsided, and Achilles had taken him on the floor. He was still sore, but Achilles was not making any attempt to be gentle. He seemed to want as much of Patroclus as he could get, his callused hands gripping Patroclus' hips so hard they bruised. Patroclus flushed, thinking of the first time Briseis had seen the bruises, of the way she had pursed her lips, the question darting behind her eyes. She believed Achilles took him by force, and no amounts of Patroclus' clumsy attempts to explain could convince her otherwise. Patroclus didn't think Achilles' advances were forceful. But he wouldn't have ever denied him, anyway. Machaon's words echoed in the back of his head every time. He knew what the ambassador would say. It was a good thing Achilles wanted him at all, and seemed satisfied by their couplings enough not to take a concubine. Patroclus did his best to please the prince, he moved in rhythm to Achilles' motions, made sounds of pleasure, showed that he enjoyed it just as much as the prince did. It stoked Achilles' pride, and Patroclus had caught on to that. He had even started to initiate sex. After they had finished, and had time to catch their breath, he would curl up into Achilles' side, sliding his leg up over the prince's. "Do you want me again, my lord?" he would whisper into Achilles' ear, and Achilles' eyes would narrow in lust, and Patroclus would feel him harden against his leg.

Achilles had grabbed on to his hair and his scalp stang as the hair was yanked back. They both groaned as Achilles met his completion, his hips joined to Patroclus' as he finished inside him. Not a moment later, Patroclus felt the warmth of his seed dripping down his thighs while Achilles stretched out onto his back, covered in sweat, a satisfied smile breaking out on his face. He looked like a cat lolling in the sun, content. Patroclus looked down at himself, disoriented and disheveled. He didn't know whether Achilles expected him to leave or not. He had never spent the morning in bed with his husband. A look from Achilles made him bring the covers up over them, settling at his side.

"Breakfast with me?" It wasn't a question, despite the inflection.

Patroclus smiled at Achilles and kissed his cheek. "Yes, my lord."

They slept for a few more minutes, then rose as the servants prepared the bath. Patroclus didn't see her, but he knew Briseis was hovering, wondering if she should get Patroclus back to his own room or not.

Instead, he spent a good hour in the bath with Achilles. It was at least twice the size of his own bath, a large square in the ground with steps leading down into the water. Achilles took no notice of the servants bustling about, drawing Patroclus into his arms so that they leaned onto each other with the water up to their chins. His fingers threaded through Patroclus' hair, untangling the dark strands. It was intimate, and Patroclus was surprised they had anything to talk about at all, but Achilles proved easier to talk to than he had initially imagined. He didn't even seem to mind when Patroclus had nothing to say, happy to talk about his life, his daily activities as Crown Prince of Phthia. They seemed almost like lovers, murmuring to each other in the bath, pausing every now and then to kiss. Yet they would never have been in each other's company that way if their marriage hadn't been arranged by their fathers. Patroclus wondered if Achilles would have even noticed him, if he had been some courtier, or visiting among an Opian envoy.

He encountered Automedon several times in the following days. The lieutenant apparently lived in the palace's army barracks, and oversaw the training of the palace guard. They would cross each other's paths in the hallways, and the lieutenant would always give a nod of greeting, ever polite, yet his dark eyes held Patroclus' in a way that forced itself to stay at the back of Patroclus' mind for the rest of the day. Podalirius, Patroclus' tutor and Machaon's brother, had been transferred to the Phthian palace so that Patroclus could continue his lessons. Old Phthian not only demanded to be read and translated, but to be transcribed in a specific calligraphy style that was as difficult as it was beautiful. Patroclus was learning the Phthian ballads, and the epics that were often performed at parties, about the ancient battles of the gods and their favorite mortal heroes. Podalirius insisted that learning to transcribe poetry was the key to performing it. The king had banquets and dinner parties often, where courtiers and courtesans of the highest repute would have the chance to display their abilities in the arts. "It would be to your advantage to show you can match them in skill, despite being a foreigner," Machaon agreed. "King Peleus will certainly notice, and Prince Achilles will take his father's opinion into account." Patroclus also practiced the lyre and kithara, but he had little talent for music. Supposedly, Achilles was the best at the lyre. Podalirius taught Patroclus the various dances of the Phthian tradition.

"These courtiers, who are they?" Patroclus asked one day, as Podalirius was poring over a book of short poems.

"Hmm? Oh, your highness, Machaon would be better suited to tell you about it."

"But he won't say anything about the Phthian nobility."

"Well.." Podalirius sighed and closed the book, reaching up to scratch his shaved head.

"I suppose there are a few of note you should look out for. Sons of King Peleus' closest advisors, who have known Prince Achilles since childhood."

"Like Lieutenant Automedon?" Patroclus offered.

"Him? No, that boy is the son of commoners surely, or from a military family. He is not noble or wealthy. Do you know who his father is?"

"He mentioned… he is the son of Diores."

"Name doesn't ring a bell. Must have been a soldier, probably accomplished some rapport with his betters, to have his son admitted to the royal military academy. Or perhaps pure luck that he was the prince's charioteer at all."

"Then.. who?"

"Eudoros son of Echekles for one. His father is one of King Peleus' most trusted advisors, and his mother a famous beauty. It is no secret that his family would want him to become a consort to the prince. It must have come as a shock to them that King Peleus had already arranged for the alliance with Opus. He would have been first choice otherwise, with a family so powerful and wealthy. They are the wealthiest in all Phthia next to the king, you see."

"Will I see him at court?" Patroclus had never heard of Eudoros son of Echekles.

"He was at your wedding. You really should pay better attention, your highness. Eudoros is close to Prince Achilles, they grew up together."

"But he is not in the military?"

"He bears the mark, from his mother's side."

Patroclus felt a sinking in his gut. That was dangerous indeed. If Achilles were to ever take another consort, this Eudoros sounded promising.

"He is the least of your worries at the moment, your highness," Podalirius added, seeing Patroclus' concern.

"Besides, he's not the only one. Many of noble lineage would have been suitable for the prince. And still would be, should you fail to produce an heir." A severe look.

"And if I do? That won't stop him from taking another consort."

"No, but your son will be named heir to the throne. I hope you realize how much weight that carries, your highess." _A scion of Opian blood will sit on the Phthian throne._ "When the prince takes another consort, and do not think it a question of whether or not he will – you may still keep his favor by giving him a son who will be the future king. You will be respected, and it will be just as well that you remain his chief consort."


	5. Chapter 5

"And he gave to me seven talents of gold, and a krater of solid silver, and a… and he gave me…"

"Don't stop now."

Patroclus nearly jumped at the sudden interjection, the voice seeming to come from right behind him. Whirling around, he came face to face with Automedon, not quite leaning against a pillar, but rather seeming to have emerged from behind it. Those eyes were boring into him again. Patroclus held his gaze, struggling to find words.

"My apologies. I did not mean to startle you."

The slight smile Automedon offered was more placating than apologetic, but his tone was impossible to read, as always. Patroclus could not hold down the surge of indignation within him.

"Of course not, I should hardly be startled at someone hiding behind a pillar as I practice my lines." This only made Automedon's smile widen.

"What is it they're making you recite then? The Ballad of the Salt Sea? The Epic of the Early Born?" He stepped forward.

"It is the Phaeacian Epic," Patroclus replied, after a moment's silence.

Automedon studied him, his head cocked to one side.

"I hear it is quite popular," Patroclus added, flushing.

"Definitely one of the more underrated ones," Automedon murmured, finally looking away.

"You will be at the banquet tonight, then?"

Automedon looked up and smiled again. Patroclus thought he could get used to seeing that smile.

"How could I miss it, now that I know you will be fumbling over endless descriptions of lofty mountains, ship cables and newborn lambs? It is guaranteed entertainment, Patroclus."

Patroclus nearly missed the casual use of his name. Automedon caught himself, and straightened his expression. They regarded each other silently.

"I can see now that I am only an object of your amusement," Patroclus replied, looking at Automedon sideways the way Machaon did when Patroclus couldn't remember a line.

Automedon started to frown, but caught Patroclus' subtle grin. He inclined his head.

"Until tonight, highness."

Machaon and Podalirius were less forgiving of Patroclus' errors. "Sweet wine! Seven talents of gold, a krater of solid silver, and honey sweet wine, drink of the gods!" Podalirius exclaimed, throwing his book to the side, where it nearly hit Machaon in the face. Machaon dodged it and shot Podalirius a glare. He aimed it at Patroclus next.

"It would do you no good to forget your lines in the middle of a recitation, your highness. All eyes will be on you. I had hoped to emphasize the severity of the situation."

Patroclus stared at his hands. "I do understand, Machaon. I'm sorry. I just.. need more practice."

Machaon sighed. "We do not have much time. By all means, please continue."

Patroclus began again, avoiding looking at Machaon and Podalirius as he recited the tale of the sailor in the court of the Phaeacian king, making sure to stay on rhythm. Podalirius had brought out a drum to help with his pacing, but Machaon had warned him that there would be other musical instruments during the banquet that would serve as distractions.

When he had finished, he looked again at his tutors for their verdict.

"It would have been beneficial to have more time to practice, highness. However, one has to admit your Old Phthian is beautiful. It might prove your saving grace."

After Machaon left, Podalirius beckoned Patroclus over.

"Tonight is nothing to fret over, your highness. Yes, it's important to make a good impression to the court, and to King Peleus. But you will have other chances, and if it doesn't go well tonight, it's not the end of the world. My brother can make things sound more dire than they actually are. Just try to stay on rhythm, it's what people will notice most." He patted Patroclus on the shoulder.

Later that night, Briseis did her best to make Patroclus as presentable as possible. Royal banquets were different from other events Patroclus had attended, they were occasions to put oneself on display, the places where courtiers and courtesans did most of their social climbing. Machaon had even spoken with Briseis to ensure she knew what to do. She had chosen a green robe for him, with gold borders and a matching sash. It was fancier than anything Patroclus had worn back home in Opus. She braided his hair so that the gold diadem he wore would flatter his head shape more. At last, she stood back and examined her work.

"Go look in the mirror, Patroclus."

Patroclus stood and went over to the wall-length mirror at the side of the room. He looked… regal. Princely, even, if not beautiful. He tried to smile at Briseis' reflection behind him.

"I don't look like myself."

"You look like Patroclus, Royal Consort of Prince Achilles," Briseis replied.

It was enough.

He had a hard time keeping his composure at the banquet, catching himself as he began to fidget. There was plenty of food and wine, but no one seemed to eat. The air was weighed down with conversations, buzzing in Patroclus' ear, reminding him of his wedding day when he had stepped out before the gates that would lead him to his fate. Except this was more compressed, claustrophobic, even. He didn't know where to look, without catching the eye of some noble, who would take it as a sign to confront him with small talk or court gossip. He knew Machaon was somewhere in the background, ever observant, but there was no way he could sidle up to the ambassador now. He was on his own.

He saw Achilles at the other side of the room, surrounded as always by friends and hopeful courtiers. Achilles had actually shown up late, striding into the grand hall and immediately attracting a flock of admirers. The king didn't seem too bothered, and Achilles eventually made his way to the main table, sliding into the seat between his father and Patroclus. He did not spare Patroclus a glance, beckoning at a servant to fill his wine cup.

"It would do no harm to show up on time one of these days, Achilles," King Peleus remarked.

Patroclus had to crane his neck to see the king, but Peleus did not appear to be upset. There was a hint of amusement in his eyes as he looked at Achilles. Achilles shrugged. "I never seem to miss anything, father."

After the feasting, couches were brought out for the king and his guests to lounge on as each performer for the night took turns entertaining the guests. It was almost Patroclus' turn, and he had started to break out into a sweat. He wished he could see Machaon, but the ambassador was very good at blending in with the crowd. Patroclus had finally gotten a glimpse at Eudoros son of Echekles, whose family was the richest in all Phthia next to the king. His heart sank when the young man had approached Achilles earlier, and even shared his couch as they talked. Eudoros was beautiful and charming, but even more so, he seemed to have Achilles' attention and that of the king's. Patroclus was but invisible next to him, sitting alone on his own couch, Achilles having not looked his way at all that night. It was Patroclus' luck that Eudoros did not perform, or he was sure it would have sucked all the courage from him. After a young nobleman had finished with his ballad, Patroclus rose and bowed to the king as gracefully as he could.

"If it pleases you, my king, and my lord husband," he inclined his head at Achilles, who had fallen silent.

"I wish to perform the Phaeacian Epic, and hope it is an acceptable attempt."

Peleus seemed surprised, but he beamed at Patroclus in approval.

"I am honored, Patroclus." He signaled at the musicians to start, and Patroclus took a deep breath, willing away the anxiousness that would make him stutter and wreck the whole thing. He forced himself to look around him as he began, standing straight and catching the eyes of his audience, keeping his voice low and relaxed at the introduction. Eudoros stared at him, and he stared back, allowing the sounds of music to fade into the background as he followed his own beat, the one Podalirius had taught him to channel towards the back of his mind so that he would never lose his step. He did as Machaon had instructed him, how any bard worth watching would capture the attention of his audience by speaking to each one as if he told the story for them alone.

It was then that he felt Automedon's familiar gaze on him, steady and intent, and he imagined he spoke to Automedon alone, the two of them in the hallway where the latter had found him practicing. He turned, increasing his pace and volume as he reached the exciting bits of the tale, then slowly fell back to the calmer, repressed tones of the conclusion, and there he saw him. Automedon nodded once, and Patroclus continued, finishing in time with the music.

He had stayed on rhythm the entire time, and he hadn't forgotten the words. He let out a breath of relief.

The king looked pleased.

"None other than a true Phthian could tell the Phaeacian Epic so eloquently, Patroclus. You truly have a way with the old language."

"I thank you, my lord." He bowed again, and returned to his seat, but Achilles beckoned him over.

"I did not know you knew Old Phthian," Achilles commented quietly.

"I have been learning, my lord," Patroclus replied.

Achilles did not say anything for a while.

"It was done beautifully," he finally responded, squeezing Patroclus' hand. "You must perform for me again, when I play the lyre."

Patroclus grinned. "I would like that."

 **Note: The "Phaeacian Epic" Patroclus performs is actually from Book 9 of The Odyssey, hence the name Phaeacian. All of the other poetry titles Automedon mentions in the beginning are also taken from lines in The Odyssey.**


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The past few weeks had been spent with Machaon and Podalirius. Just when Patroclus thought he knew enough about the Phthian court, they proved him wrong. There was always something more to remember, some noble family crest to memorize, the different scribal signatures for each member of the royal family. And of course, there was always more of the palace to explore. Patroclus had yet to venture outside the wing where his and Achilles' bedchambers were, and the study room Podalirius liked to use for their language and diplomacy lessons. He had walked past the barracks many times, on the way to the Great Hall where larger official ceremonies were carried out, and the more intimate throne room where audiences with the king were held. During this time he had received many invitations to visit with various nobles who had close ties with the king. Machaon had spent an hour lecturing him on how to judge which invitations to accept and decline.

"You may be inexperienced in these matters, your highness, but it will be up to you to utilize your influence in court wisely. In your position as consort to the Crown Prince, you will be able to help or hinder persons of lower rank. They see you now as a foreigner, unknowing of the ways of court, but you must make it clear from the beginning that you know your place. It will win you respect in the eyes of the nobility."

Machaon was pacing the room, his maroon ambassador's robe making swooshing sounds against the tiled floor. Patroclus examined the scrolls once more, each bearing a different seal stamp. He paused when he saw the one he had been dreading.

"This one's from Eudoros."

Machaon glanced over, nonplussed. "It is most likely a token of goodwill, highness. Unfortunately, you will not have much of a choice but to accept the offer. One does not simply turn down such a gesture from a man as high-born as Eudoros Echeklides, not even the Crown Prince's consort."

"You've said before that he could marry into the royal family one day."

"His family has contributed funds to the king's army for generations. It was public knowledge that they were vocal in their support of Peleus' campaign against the north, when the decision was made. Echekles has been a trusted advisor and ally of Peleus since the start of his rule. You would be wise to consider Eudoros a worthy rival, highness."

"I know. And it seems he has the upper hand."

" _You_ have the upper hand, Menoetiades. Do not forget that you are closest to the prince, and the alliance with Opus is not to be taken lightly. Do you not realize that Eudoros' position places him in as precarious a situation as yourself? You are two halves of the same coin, and you _can_ keep it that way. He is from a wealthy and powerful family, but unlike you, he has had time to make enemies. You still have the advantage of choosing your allies." Machaon narrowed his eyes at Patroclus.

"And by allies, highness, I do _not_ mean Automedon son of Diores."

Patroclus started. Machaon looked back at him, in an almost resigned manner.

"I…" Patroclus stammered. "He is an old friend of Achilles', Machaon."

"He is a commoner, as much of a rising star he seems to be in the military. The court and the military are to be treated separately, your highness. The military is the domain of the future king. You, on the other hand, will do best to stay out of those affairs."

"I'm not trying to meddle in any military affairs, Machaon. I've just… made a friend."

"A friend with no influence? No connections? No, your highness. That will not do."

Patroclus felt the heat rushing into his face. It was true that he had been seeing a lot of Automedon lately. The latter seemed to be there whenever he found himself alone.

* * *

"I am to be made Captain of the Guard," Automedon announced quietly, as they walked together to the Great Hall.

"I thought you were to become a general?" Patroclus queried. He had found Automedon much easier to talk to since the night of the banquet, when he had performed the epic. Much of their conversation involved Patroclus' lessons, and Automedon's anecdotes of previous banquet nights at the palace.

"I am. Well, it is the plan, I suppose. But Captain Menesthius is retiring, and Achilles recommended me for the job. I think the king was on the edge about it, he'd had someone else in mind, for sure. Yet, he agreed."

"Are you… do you wish to become Captain of the Guard?"

"It would mean staying at the palace more often. And part of my responsibilities will be overseeing the protection of the royal family." Automedon winked. "Including you."

Patroclus looked away. "And, the prince, of course." There was a moment's pause.

"But, you didn't answer my question. Is it what you want?"

Automedon sighed, stopping so that he and Patroclus were face to face.

"Patroclus… _your highness._ " He grimaced. "My entire life has been governed by my achievements in the army, just as my father before me. It does not matter what I want, and I think you know how that feels better than anyone else."

The admission struck Patroclus like a tide of cold water. He had never guessed Automedon thought about what things were like for _him._ Here the lieutenant was, suggesting they were alike, that they understood one another. It was something he had never encountered, not in Opus, or Phthia.

"You can choose. You could say no, if it wasn't what you wanted."

"What I want is to serve my king and my country. If I am to be general one day, then the gods have willed it. But now, it seems a different path has been forged for me."

"I never took you as a devout man."

"Patroclus, what I mean to say is that I would be honored to become Captain of the Guard."

They looked at one another, then Patroclus offered a smile, which Automedon returned.

"I would like to speak with you more often," Automedon admitted, reaching out and placing a hand on Patroclus' shoulder.

Patroclus stopped himself from looking around, feeling imaginary Machaon-like eyes burning the back of his skull.

"As would I, Automedon. I feel we have become friends."

Automedon cocked his head to one side, a mannerism that Patroclus had become familiar with in the past few days. "Yes. I suppose we are."

* * *

Patroclus had grown accustomed to retiring in his own chambers lately. He didn't miss Briseis' relieved looks whenever no one called for him as she helped him dress down for bed. He felt a pang of guilt that he had been so inefficient at explaining the true nature of his and Achilles' marital relations, that Briseis still believed Achilles to be something he was not. Machaon found it alarming that Achilles had not requested Patroclus' company more often, but Patroclus was tired of worrying. He had written back to Eudoros accepting his invitation, and his budding friendship with Automedon gnawed its way into his head. Briseis seemed unconcerned when Patroclus finally voiced his feelings to her.

"This lieutenant, then, he will be responsible for your protection?" she asked, kneading Patroclus' scalp to help him relax.

"Well, not mine alone. The palace, and the royal family, in its entirety."

"But you say he is an old friend of the prince."

"Yes, he is."

"Then, it is only appropriate that you, consort of the prince, treat his friends as your own. And it is a responsible action to establish rapport with the man who will be in charge of your safety."

"Machaon says different."

Briseis smiled and patted Patroclus' head. "Machaon has not tended to royalty since he was a child, dearest Patroclus. Anyway, I am glad you have found someone to talk to. It can get lonely here."

"It was lonely in Opus," Patroclus sighed, slouching in his chair.

"Perhaps. But Phthia is your home now. It will be different."

Patroclus hesitated, looking over at Briseis as she hummed and readied his bed contentedly.

"He hasn't, you know… wanted my company, these last few nights. Achilles, that is."

She didn't respond for a while. "You need not be worried, Patroclus."

"But that's a bad sign, isn't it? Especially since I will need to provide him with an heir."

"Perhaps he has a concubine. Don't look so pained, dearest, it is only for the best. You cannot be expected to give him every pleasure. It's good for newlyweds to spend some time apart."

"You're probably right." Patroclus let out a breath, Briseis' words having consoled him momentarily. His chamber was always silent. There were clearly other servants Briseis was in charge of, but they kept out of sight, unlike the bustling about he was used to in his homeland. He had to stop thinking of Opus as home. It was his fatherland, but not his home, not anymore. He was a Phthian now.

* * *

The next day, he caught Achilles on his way out of Peleus' throne room. Noticing him, Achilles grinned. "Patroclus!"

"My lord," Patroclus inclined his head, just short of the bow he would have given the king.

Achilles shook his head and took Patroclus' hand, placing it in the crook of his elbow. "It has been a while since I've had the pleasure of your company. Walk with me, won't you?"

Patroclus nodded, and together they strode towards the palace gardens.

"I have yet to take you up on your offer, my lord," he remembered, offering Achilles a teasing smile.

"Offer?" Achilles seemed puzzled.

"You were going to play your lyre for me. I have heard of your skill at music."

Achilles laughed, a sunny outburst. "I fear what you heard might include some gross exaggerations, dear Patroclus. I enjoy the music, and I suppose I've gotten quite good at it throughout the years. But I am no master of the arts."

"Then, we will be equally matched when I recite and you play?"

Achilles' smile softened. "We will be indeed."

They had reached an unfamiliar spot on the palace grounds, where the gardens were lush and thick, less well-groomed than the ones Patroclus had seen before. The trees flowered so heavily they were like vast, white-blossomed drapes shielding Patroclus and Achilles from the sun.

"These are the queen's gardens," Achilles remarked, not stopping to admire the hushed beauty as Patroclus did.

"Your mother?" Patroclus inquired, reluctantly. He had never heard anyone talk about the queen before, and Podalirius had given a very brief and vague overview of Peleus' marriage.

"My mother." They walked on, and not a word more was said on the matter. Finally they reached a more inhabited area of the grounds, where newly planted trees had been painstakingly arranged to line the walkway.

"These gardens are yours," Achilles stated, looking around and back at Patroclus to gauge a reaction.

"For me?" Patroclus asked. "But, why?"

At Achilles' frown, he quickly corrected himself. "I am most grateful, my lord. They are lovely. But what have I done to merit such a gift?"

The question seemed to baffle and amuse Achilles at the same time.

"You are my consort. Should you not have what every consort in the past has enjoyed? These gardens are your private domain."

Patroclus suddenly understood. It was a gesture, a token of the prince's favor. Having his own gardens seemed like an ostentatious gift, yet being granted a place in the palace that was officially his was something that would place him above the others at court. Achilles had not been blind, that night at the banquet. He had caught on to Peleus' approval and knew his consort was to be taken seriously. Patroclus' had cast his lot. Machaon had been right.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The day had finally come where Patroclus was to meet Eudoros son of Echekles, face-to-face. His greatest rival, according to Machaon and Podalirius. Eudoros had invited Patroclus for a meeting at his house. Machaon had tutted and shaken his head when he heard this.

" _Never_ on your opponent's home ground, your highness. You will reply immediately and _cordially_ invite him for a reception in your own quarters. Normally one would not have the nerve – but Eudoros clearly knows you're new to the game. He's testing the waters."

The gleam in Machaon's eye had matched that of a strategist overlooking the map of the battlefield. Patroclus realized Machaon actually enjoyed his job a great deal.

"What if he refuses?"

"He cannot refuse. You are higher-ranked than him, technically speaking. Now, we must go through how you as a consort will hold court and receive guests on your territory. The rules of hospitality in Phthia are not quite what you remember from Opian palace life."

So here they were, Patroclus waiting on the other side of the screen where he had been informed of Eudoros' arrival. The infamous Eudoros, who apparently was not shy about taking his place whenever the opportunity arose. Patroclus took a deep breath and entered the courtyard outside his quarters to greet Eudoros. The man was not by himself, but Patroclus could immediately tell him apart from the others. He had only gotten a quick glimpse at the banquet, but if it was even possible, Eudoros looked even more distinguished in broad daylight. He smiled immediately upon seeing Patroclus, and stepped forward before his companions. He bowed in one graceful sweep, and Patroclus inclined his head in return.

"Patroclus, dearest friend. It gladdens me that we finally meet." Eudoros' smile was bright and pleasant, his eyes roamed over Patroclus' face, searching.

"It is good to see you, Eudoros. I am most thankful you were able to accept my invitation," Patroclus replied.

 _Never your invitation, but mine_. Machaon's words echoed in his head. _He will address you informally, to show he sees you as an equal. You will match him, but keep your words formal._

"Of course, of course! How could I not, especially in your own home?"

"Please, have a seat and let us get to know one another. I am most curious about a man so close to the king himself." Patroclus smiled at Eudoros, hoping he didn't come across as a complete fool.

 _I hate this,_ he thought. _Playing the part like an actor in a play._

Eudoros seemed to enjoy it. His smile never ceased, and he stared at Patroclus in what could almost be perceived as genuine affection.

"Indeed, I could tell you many things about the gifts Phthia has bestowed upon my family. But I'm sure it pales in comparison to the life of an Opian prince."

"Hardly. Perhaps you could enlighten me on matters I knew little about before."

"Oh, yet you seem so well-versed already, dear friend. It seems court life has been good to you. I do so want to congratulate you on your marvelous performance the other night. So beautifully done. You are deserving of praise."

"I thank you. I take it you are a lover of poetry?"

"As all true Phthians are. Surely our prince has accompanied your practice with his musical skills?"

 _Our prince._ Patroclus gritted his teeth and nodded in reply.

"I am, however, a poor match for his skill. He plays as though a professional musician."

"I doubt it. He must enjoy the company, even if you are a beginner in the Old Phthian way."

An attendant had served them both cups of wine, and Patroclus hadn't touched a drop of it. Eudoros swirled the wine in his cup, appearing to admire the ornate design.

"I must extend to you a gift worthy of your hospitality, dear one. Surely you are a lover of beauty. I hope my trinket does not disappoint." Eudoros waved his hand and one of his companions brought forth a decorated chest, which he opened to reveal a set of golden pins, the kind Briseis used to fasten Patroclus' robes together. They were lovely, with intricate carving and encrusted with blue stones. Machaon had warned Patroclus that the exchange of gifts was not unheard of for a first reception, and that Eudoros would probably seize the chance to show off his wealth.

"You are too kind, Eudoros. There are few things lovelier than your gift. But surely, you will accept a gift from me, your host." Patroclus beckoned his own attendant over with a krater painted in red figures.

"You must recognize the scene?" He watched Eudoros studying the painting on the krater.

"Of course. The exchange between the king of Pylos and the storyteller."

"A token, then, of my friendship and good faith." Patroclus rose, and Eudoros followed.

"There are few things more precious to me." Eudoros' smile had waned, but he now threw a level look at Patroclus.

It had been enough to earn Eudoros' respect, at least.

* * *

"It went about as well as you could have hoped for, your highness. You did not let him overwhelm or outsmart you. He will see you as a worthy rival, and think twice before his next move."

"What do I do with these?" Patroclus waved the golden pins at Machaon, who sniffed in disapproval.

"Such an ostentatious display… taking trivial objects and finding the most elaborate to throw in your face. Yes, it is no doubt the way of the House of Echekles. You must wear it, of course. Let the court know of the _good faith_ between you and Eudoros. It will be in your favor. Sowing good relationships with those close to the king is always wise."

Patroclus removed the plain brass pins Briseis had carefully tucked into the sides of his robes and replaced them with Eudoros' golden ones.

"There. I suppose I look fancier?"

"They compliment you well, your highness."

* * *

Nighttime had approached and Patroclus was in Achilles' chambers, listening to the sounds of the lyre playing in the otherwise silent space. He gazed sleepily at Achilles' clever fingers plucking the strings.

"You've stopped."

Patroclus started, looking at Achilles, puzzled.

"You've stopped reciting."

"I… the music has lulled me to near-slumber, it seems," Patroclus grinned sheepishly.

"I want to hear you while I play. Two beats to the same drum, and all."

Patroclus sat up, straightening at Achilles' suddenly stern face.

"Have I… done something to offend you, my lord?"

Achilles' brow furrowed, the downward tilt of his mouth furthering still.

"Of course not. Why would you think that?"

"I could start again. Though I seem to have forgotten where I lost track. Would you mind?"

Achilles sighed and tossed the lyre aside. It landed with a thunk on the mosaic tiles, and Patroclus felt bad to see such a beautiful object treated so crassly.

"Forget it. I'm tired of playing. Especially if you're not going to recite for me. What is the point, then?" Achilles got up and poured himself another cup of wine. Patroclus watched him, confused and wary at the same time. He had never seen Achilles so frustrated before. The prince had always treated him pleasantly, or indifferently, but never with irritation.

"Have you even been continuing your lessons in Old Phthian?"

"I don't think this is about my Old Phthian," Patroclus murmured. Achilles shook his head angrily.

"I thought you wanted to impress my father when you performed that night at the banquet. It seems I was wrong."

"Impress your father, yes. But I wanted to impress you, first and foremost. To show you that I care about the Phthian ways, your history, your home. It was the best way I could do it."

Patroclus stood and went over to Achilles, seating himself next to him on the long couch near the hearth. "Did I not communicate that?"

Achilles narrowed his eyes at Patroclus. "If you cared so much about learning Old Phthian, you would be working night and day to perfect your skill. Perhaps you wouldn't have time to spend with certain captains of the Guard."

A chill went down Patroclus' spine. _He knows I spend time with Automedon._

Forcing himself to meet Achilles' gaze, Patroclus replied.

"This is what it's about, then? You think I mean more than friendship towards your old friend, Automedon?"

"I can't imagine what matter could be so pressing that my consort finds the need to speak with the Captain of the Guard, alone, quite so often."

"He is a friend to me, my lord. Just as he has been a friend to you, for most of your lives, it seems." Patroclus placed a tentative hand on Achilles' shoulder, thankful when the prince did not pull away.

"You know he is loyal to you. He would never attempt to do such a thing. And I would never betray your trust. But we are kindred spirits, and I hope my lord understands. If you want me to stop speaking with him, I will stop." Patroclus hoped, deep down, that Achilles did not command him to do that. He was already feeling exhausted at the half-truths he was spouting at the prince, his _husband_. But he could not allow Achilles to doubt his faithfulness as a consort.

Achilles stared at him for a long time, and finally, his expression softened. He turned so that he could place his hands on Patroclus' waist, and leaned forward so their faces were close to one another.

"How could I doubt you, beloved. You must forgive me."

Patroclus reached up to cup Achilles' face.

"No, my lord, forgive me for ever causing you doubt."

"I insult my good friend by implying such a thing. You are right, Automedon deserves nothing more than my trust." Achilles sighed, rising. "Come to bed."

They lay together, and Achilles turned to kiss Patroclus gently.

Patroclus tried to quell the tightening in his gut. He had never felt more confused and uncertain about himself. Here was Achilles, whom he had _married,_ and whose favor held his position in Peleus' court. Achilles who sometimes did these things, where he spoke words of love and treated Patroclus like a treasured partner, rather than a disposable one. It was not enough to forget the times when he seemed to look right through Patroclus. They were not equals, and they never would be. Patroclus had no idea where he stood with Achilles, except that he should always act as though he loved and respected the prince. And perhaps he did, or he could, someday. But Achilles' sweet words and gentle touches were not enough to win his love. Even in their most intimate moments, there was something amiss. Achilles did not know him, or understand him.

And Automedon – it was dangerous land to tread on, and Patroclus knew he could never get too close. Automedon knew it too, evidenced by how much less they had seen each other in the past few weeks. Yet Automedon seemed to have burned a hole in the back of Patroclus' mind, one that was permanent and would not scar over. He was not in love with Automedon – not yet, at least. But he was afraid to be. And he knew it was not something so quickly dismissed if it was worth being afraid of.

* * *

 **Note: So, this fic is still mainly Achilles/Patroclus, as I'd originally planned. However, Automedon suddenly sprang up and insisted on joining the fun. I have yet to determine how much this will affect the main pairing.**


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Another morning arrived where Patroclus found himself awakening next to Achilles. Dawn had not yet broken, the room still bathed in the blue of early morning. Patroclus rolled over and pressed himself against Achilles' warm body. The prince grunted, letting him know he was half-awake.

They rose and breakfasted together, Achilles' servants bustling around the sitting area connected to his bedchambers, serving hot grains with honey and fresh figs. Achilles leaned back against his chair, watching Patroclus with equal parts attentiveness and indifference, like a cat. Patroclus had gotten used to this side of Achilles; where a month ago his skin would have prickled with self-consciousness, now he simply paid attention to his food and waited for Achilles to break the silence.

It was a chillier morning than usual, the cold breeze wafting through Patroclus' thin tunic and robes. He thought of Briseis' disapproving tuts if she were to see him not dressed for breakfast. Briseis had always kept to a tight schedule, making sure Patroclus was bathed and properly dressed before he started the day's activities. He pulled his robe tighter around him to keep the breeze out. Achilles hadn't even bothered putting on a tunic, his robe was open at the front so that it exposed his bare torso. He didn't look the least bit bothered by the chill.

"Patroclus, there is something I must ask of you."

Patroclus paused, swallowing his food before he answered.

"What is it, my lord?"

"It has come to my attention that your retinue is incomplete."

"Hmm?" Patroclus could only wait for Achilles to explain himself.

"You were never properly fitted with a personal guard."

"Why would I need a guard?"

Achilles looked genuinely taken aback for a second.

"All of the royal consorts had their own guards. My mother, my grandfather's consorts… and so will you. In fact, I have the perfect candidate in mind."

"Who do you suggest?" Patroclus puzzled over when Achilles would have had time to interview possible candidates for the position.

"Our good friend, Automedon. Who else?" Achilles grinned, looking pleased with himself.

Patroclus felt his face heat, and took a sip of water to hide it.

"But, my lord… Automedon is the captain of the Guard. Surely he has far more important responsibilities than to become my… than to follow me around all day!"

Achilles shrugged. "I've already spoken to Automedon, he has agreed to divide his duties accordingly. After our conversation the other night, I realized there is no better person to be in charge of your safety. I trust Automedon, and I can see you do as well. He has been a good friend to us both."

Patroclus couldn't believe the sincerity he was hearing in Achilles' words.

"I… well, if it is what you think best, my lord. I am honored that you think of my security."

Achilles' eyes lit up at Patroclus' words, and he grabbed Patroclus' hand, kissing the knuckles ferociously.

"There is nothing more important, beloved."

* * *

It had been a week since Automedon was assigned to Patroclus' personal retinue, along with another guardsman by the name of Antilochus. Antilochus was surprisingly younger than Patroclus, although he looked older. He was as tall as Automedon, leaner and of a wiry built, with the face of someone who smiled a lot. Patroclus had not gotten used to having his bodyguards one step behind him at all times. Automedon left in the afternoons for his duties as captain, and was replaced with another highly-ranked guard, Eurypylus. Eurypylus had the look of a seasoned warrior and almost never spoke, but seemed to get along with Antilochus well enough.

They were gathered in the courtyard for the Crocus Festival, an event that celebrated the harvest of the autumn flowers that dried into saffron and were made into the rare yellow dye only the rich could afford to wear. Briseis had held Patroclus' only yellow garment like it would fall apart at any moment, fastening it as gently as she could with Eudoros' golden pins. There seemed to be layers and layers of the thin fabric wrapped around Patroclus, bordered with white embroidery. His hair was braided and decorated with gold thread and agate. Both the king and Achilles were adorned even more magnificently, with yellow garments similar to Patroclus' but of a noticeably higher quality.

Yet, even they did not compete with Eudoros, who had shown up with his attendants dressed from head to foot in the color, each servant wearing almost as much of the fabric as Eudoros himself. Patroclus noticed Antilochus' jaw drop at the frivolous display. The young guardsman had a small dried crocus flower tucked into his sword belt, as most of the non-aristocracy could only afford to do. Patroclus snuck a glance at Automedon, and saw that he too had a crocus flower, tucked into the front of his armor. He saw Patroclus looking and raised an eyebrow. Patroclus quickly turned away, cursing himself for the redness he knew had started on his face.

Automedon had been steadily ignoring Patroclus since he started the job as his personal guard. He still greeted him politely, but other than that they had not exchanged conversation. Patroclus wondered if Automedon was angry that he had to divide his responsibilities between being captain of the Guard and bodyguard of the royal consort, which was still a respected position but certainly less prolific. _Or maybe he doesn't want to get too close to me_ , Patroclus thought sullenly. Maybe it was for the best. With Antilochus around all the time within earshot, they could hardly act the same around each other as they had before, without attracting unwanted attention.

 _If there really is nothing between us, why would it be dangerous for us to be seen being friendly with each other?_ Patroclus wished he could approach Automedon about this, but the other man's distant demeanor dissuaded him from doing so. He was used to Automedon's easy presence, but this almost felt cold coming from him.

The entertainment had begun, with dancers gathered in a circle before the audience, calling to them to participate. Out of the corner of his eye, Patroclus noticed Eudoros slip out of his chair and head over to the circle. He danced as well as the professionals, his feet light and fast, his movements graceful. He threw his head back and laughed as he linked arms with the women, and he looked more beautiful than Patroclus had ever seen him. Patroclus looked down at his own feet, knowing he himself did not have the talent for dance. He had been so busy studying Old Phthian that he'd requested Machaon to put aside his dancing lessons for the time being.

Pausing in front of Achilles, Eudoros reached out with two arms. Achilles had been leaning back, watching the dance. He shook his head and grinned, grabbing hold of Eudoros' hands and let himself be pulled into the circle. Patroclus felt helpless. _It's alright. It's only a dance. Eudoros is not going to become consort_ _just by dancing with Achilles once._ He could hear Machaon's voice in his head. "Your highness, it would have been wise to invite the prince to dance. As royal consort, you had the right to ask him first. Now you have given Eudoros Echeklides a chance he would not have had otherwise. You must learn to anticipate your opponents' move, your highness." And then a sigh and a disappointed shake of the head.

The air suddenly felt too thick and clammy around him. Patroclus turned to Antilochus, but his bodyguard was being pulled insistently into the circle by a pretty dancing girl. Rather than face Automedon, he slowly got up and wove his way behind the table of honor as inconspicuously as he could. Thankfully, no one was paying attention. Peleus was laughing with his advisors at another table, and the other guests were focused on the dancing. He heard footsetps behind him as soon as he was past the gates of the courtyard.

"Highness! Patroclus! Where are you going?"

Patroclus turned around and it was Automedon, looking concerned.

"I just needed some air," Patroclus explained, feeling like an idiot.

"We're outdoors."

"Yes. I mean, I just wanted to take walk. Get away from the… the crowd, for a little bit."

Automedon was staring at him, looking unconvinced.

Patroclus knew he was red all over, the heat had rushed to his face and seemed to go to his head. "Please, don't mind me. You should enjoy the festivities."

"It is my duty to escort you wherever you go."

Patroclus shrugged. "I'm going for a walk, then. You're free to come with me."

He turned and kept walking, not headed in any particular direction, although his feet took him to the gardens that Achilles had declared were his. The queen's gardens. He took in a deep breath, gazing up at the trees and their white blossoms, seeming to shield him and provide comfort at the same time. It was peaceful here. The sun had set, leaving the sky lavender and orange behind the shady trees.

"Patroclus?" Automedon's voice was hesitant.

"It's alright. We don't have to talk if you don't want to."

"It's not that I don't want to talk." Automedon frowned, looking as though he struggled to find the words.

"Look, Achilles asked me to become your guard because he thinks we are friends. He trusts me to be your friend."

"And we are friends. Aren't we?"

"It's not that simple! It's – of _course_ I want to be your friend, Patroclus. Of course I want to talk to you. But we can't. Because you are his."

"Because I am his, we can't be friends? Does he have a claim on my friendships, then?"

"No!" Automedon sighed and turned his face away.

"Unless I am mistaken, I think you know perfectly well why. It is because you are his, and not mine."

The words had been spoken. Patroclus stared at Automedon, hardly able to believe his own ears.

"It is too dangerous, Patroclus," Automedon whispered. Hesitantly, he stepped forward and took Patroclus' hands in his.

"I was beginning to think he suspected, but then he came to me and said I was the only one he could trust to oversee your security. I thought he was testing me, trying to see if I wanted to get close to you. I told him I couldn't, but I knew many men who were perfectly capable, that I would do everything I could to make sure you had the best - "

Patroclus kissed him.

He leaned forward, pressing his lips against Automedon's, pressing his body against Automedon's chest, drinking him in. They were still for a second, Automedon in shocked silence.

Then Patroclus felt Automedon's hands around his face, lips catching his in desperate fervor, almost as though he was air and Automedon a dying man.

They broke apart, gasping, Patroclus clutching at Automedon's waist, the latter taking a quick look around in case anyone had seen them.

"I know, I know," Patroclus sobbed when Automedon opened his mouth to speak.

"We can't. I know."

He watched Automedon's expression falter for a second, their eyes locked, their desire bared for each other's eyes, the first time they had allowed it to happen.

"I couldn't say no, Patroclus. He insisted. And I knew… I've been so cold to you, and I'm sorry. I never meant for you to think…"

Patroclus leaned their foreheads together. "Please, don't apologize. I know why."

They stood like that for a moment, nothing but the sounds of their own breathing, and the quiet wind through the trees.

Reluctantly, Automedon withdrew. "We should get back. Achilles will notice you are gone."

Patroclus nodded. He moved towards the small gateway that led out from the garden, until he felt Automedon's arms around him again, spinning him back around and claiming his lips in one last frantic kiss.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

For all he tried, Patroclus could not get himself to stay still. He was restless with excitement, with fear, with everything else he had not allowed himself to feel, but now took hold of him like a madness.

* * *

They had gone back to the festivities, Patroclus returning to his seat and Automedon taking his place behind him. Achilles had still been dancing with Eudoros when they got back, and Patroclus could not mask his relief as he felt Automedon's gaze on his back. As the celebration came to an end, Achilles came looking for him, flushed from the dancing and noticeably drunk.

"Patroclus! What did you think of my dancing, hmm?"

For a brief moment, Patroclus thought Achilles meant to take him back to his chambers. Then Achilles laughed, clapped Automedon on the shoulder, and motioned for Antilochus to join them.

"You must be tired. You look tired. My friends - " He put a hand on both Automedon and Antilochus. "See to it that Patroclus doesn't get lost in the halls on the way back."

He threw a smirk over his shoulder at Patroclus as he left, which Patroclus thought he meant to be playful, but his charm would not work tonight. Patroclus simply nodded at Antilochus, who smiled and offered him an arm.

It seemed to take forever for Briseis to unravel the multiple layers of yellow.

"Briseis, a bath, if there is any water left?"

Briseis looked surprised. "It must have been some party, highness. It doesn't look as though you broke a sweat."

"I would rather be fresh and comfortable for bed."

"Alright then. There's still water, why don't you get in and I'll have your bedclothes ready."

He washed away the smells from the festival, careful not to use too much oil. Briseis always slathered him in the stuff before a visit with Achilles, and he would spend the night self-conscious that he smelled too much like a flower for Achilles' tastes.

He paused for a moment, looking at the bottle of oil and the place between his legs. There was usually a liberal amount of oil next to the bed, but just to make sure, he decided there was no harm in having himself slick and ready in case there was no time.

* * *

He had been sitting in the dark, the sheets clenched around his knees, when the sound came. A rustling at the door, which he got up to open.

"Is it clear?" came Automedon's whisper.

Patroclus' hands found his.

"There's no one in here. Briseis left hours ago."

And then they were in each other's arms, and Patroclus could feel him, feel his want and his need.

Automedon grabbed his arm and led him out of the room.

The hallways were nearly pitch black, and Patroclus had no choice but to follow blindly. He knew it would be foolishness to have Automedon in his bed, where they could be easily caught, but he had dared to hope.

They took a lesser-known passage that led to the army barracks, but went past it, to the academy where Automedon trained the palace guard.

"This is where you sleep?" Patroclus asked, keeping his voice low.

"This is where I come when I want to be alone."

They had reached a back room behind the guards' quarters that appeared to be an old study. There were stairs leading up to the open roof, which overlooked the walls of the palace, but remained hidden from sight.

"It seems, now this is where I come when I want to be alone with you."

They kissed, and Patroclus quickly shrugged out of his bedclothes. Automedon was still for a moment, simply looking at him, his eyes pensive but warm.

"I wish I had better for you, Patroclus."

Patroclus shook his head. "Don't say such things, Automedon. _You_ are all I want."

This made Automedon smile. He pulled Patroclus closer against him, hands sliding over his sides, his hips, reaching down to caress his legs.

"You know, I've wanted you since that day I caught you practicing your lines."

Patroclus flushed. "You can't have."

"I did. I didn't know it then, but it was inevitable. I couldn't stop myself, and I can't stop myself now. So tell me that you're sure, Patroclus."

Patroclus reached under Automedon's tunic and gripped his length, earning a soft intake of breath. "I'm sure."

Then it was a race for them both to be free of their clothing, and Automedon knelt as he kissed his way down Patroclus' body. His mouth ran over Patroclus belly, his hips, and once it reached the inside of his thighs, Patroclus could not stop the shiver.

"Automedon… I am yours. Tonight, every night, I don't care. If you will have me, I am yours."

The answer he got was a slow lick up the inside of his thigh, and then Automedon parted his legs and his mouth was _on_ him, kissing and sucking at the sensitive place where Patroclus had only been taken by one man. He let out a small cry as Automedon carefully slipped in a finger, moving it inside him as though testing the waters.

He let Automedon bring him to the floor, so that he was bent over on his knees with Automedon wrapped around his back.

"Look at me, Patroclus."

Patroclus turned his head so that he locked eyes with Automedon, then gave a startled yelp as Automedon's hand gripped his member, stroking it at a steady pace. Automedon's own hardness was poking at Patroclus, right at his entrance, but Automedon seemed in no hurry. He held Patroclus against him, nestling his face in the crook of Patroclus' neck.

"Automedon…" Patroclus gasped. "Please…"

Automedon simply tilted his chin upwards to kiss him again, deep and long, as if he drew strength from Patroclus' lips.

"Soon, love. Let me feel you first. I want to feel all of you."

Patroclus shook his head, grinding his ass against Automedon's leaking cock, letting it smear all over himself. " _I want you."_

There seemed to be a flame lit in Automedon's eyes as he gripped Patroclus hips; he thrusted forward, and then he was inside him, deep.

" _Fuck,"_ Automedon breathed, his fingernails digging into Patroclus' hips, then he released them and moved to stroke up his sides.

"Alright, my love?"

Patroclus' breathing was shallow, he took Automedon's hand and squeezed it.

At this silent answer, Automedon started to move. Patroclus looked back at him, spreading his legs wider, their fingers were entwined.

Patroclus could feel the pressure building as Automedon entered him over and over again, stretching and filling him until his own cock was wet with the beginnings of spend. One thrust touched a spot in him that wracked his entire body, made his head buzz with the pleasure it invoked.

"Patroclus," Automedon whispered into his ear.

"Yes, yes, _gods,_ yes," Patroclus could only cry, clamping a hand over his mouth and biting his knuckles as his thighs began to shake.

Automedon steadied him, wordlessly thrusting deeply, leaning forwards to cover Patroclus' hair and neck with kisses.

"Gods, I am going to – Patroclus!"

"Inside me," Patroclus murmured at him, looking into his eyes.

And then Automedon's body jerked, his grip on Patroclus tightening painfully as he came with a soundless cry.

His breath was ragged as he pulled Patroclus into his lap, head leaning back as though drowning in his own pleasure. He took Patroclus' hand, wrapping it around Patroclus' still-hard cock, and his fingers filled the gaps between Patroclus' fingers.

"For me, Patroclus." Their hands stroked Patroclus' length, the pace quickening.

"Come for me!" and the pressure inside Patroclus released, his vision white-hot as his body strained, feeling every last bit of his desire release.

He groaned, his weight slackening against Automedon, who held him tighter and pressed a kiss against his shoulder.

He would have given all the world for them to stay like that, together.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Patroclus was in the midst of following Podalirius' instructions on the Pelasgian folk dance when Machaon stormed in, Briseis at his heels looking panicked.

They had been attempting the part of the dance that involved quite a few leaps, meant to emulate the satyrs in their forest festivities. Podalirius had insisted it was the most popular festival dance in Phthia. Ever since the Crocus Festival where Eudoros had danced so beautifully, Podalirius had convinced Patroclus to stop putting aside his dancing lessons.

The thing was, Podalirius himself was not much of a dancer, either. He could recite every single step in all the court dances known to Phthians, and provide in-depth critique of other dancers' movements; but his own attempts were awkward, enthusiastic though they were. Patroclus was having a lot of trouble keeping up.

"What are you doing? Stop it at once!" Machaon ordered.

"Oh good, brother, you're here. Do you mind demonstrating the satyr leaps for the Pelasgian folk dance? I was just trying to show Patroclus here, but I'm afraid -"

"Never mind that," Machaon snapped.

Patroclus and Podalirius both took a proper look at the ambassador then.

Patroclus didn't think he had ever seen Machaon look so flustered. The man was never short of composed and collected. Right then, he looked a combination of irritated and worried. He was even sweating a little. Right behind him, Briseis crossed her arms, frowning in consternation. Something was definitely wrong.

"What is it?" Patroclus finally asked, sharing a glance with Podalirius.

Machaon sighed. "Your brother Myrtus is here."

He rubbed the area between his brows, as if chasing off a headache.

"He arrived with a small group of delegates from Opus this morning. The king and Prince Achilles are receiving him in the audience hall as we speak."

Patroclus fought off the growing perturbation that seemed to pool in the pit of his stomach. _Myrtus._ He hadn't thought of his brother since he left Opus. There had been word that his father had chosen heirs among the sons of his lesser consorts,but Patroclus certainly hadn't expected one of them to come here. And for what purpose?

"What do you think he wants?" he dared to ask.

Machaon glanced over his shoulder at Briseis, who caught his eye and went over to Patroclus, taking him by the arm.

"Your highness, I did not think this would happen. I did not think… I was sure your father would send news if he was to send an envoy. Especially so soon." Machaon's expression was cloudy as he said this.

"Come, Patroclus," said Briseis, tugging on his arm.

"You must get dressed. The king will expect you to greet your brother."

"Machaon? What does he want?" Patroclus pressed further.

Machaon shook his head. "I wouldn't worry right at this moment, your highness. As much as I wish we could brief before meeting your brother, I don't think he will try anything at a formal audience. We will discuss this later." He managed a quick smile, though it came out more like a grimace. Machaon trying to be comforting? Patroclus wondered exactly what was at stake here.

Briseis did a quick job getting Patroclus dressed in more formal garments. Without time to bathe, she resorted to brushing his hair out and braiding it with gold thread as fast as she could. Patroclus noticed she had chosen one of his best tunics, a cerulean silk embroidered with gold patterns and tiny red beads. Over this, she helped him into a matching robe and tied a sash around his waist, fastening it with Eudoros' golden pins.

Briseis had known Myrtus, back in Opus. She was going to so much trouble to make Patroclus look good, and it only added to his worry.

He entered the hall, for once alone, without even Automedon and Antilochus to accompany him. Peleus was seated on his throne, Achilles at his side, looking as indifferent as was usual for him.

There in front of the dais, speaking to them, was Myrtus.

Patroclus paused for a moment, taking in the scene. He hadn't thought he would ever see Myrtus again. A flurry of emotions swept over him; there was no love lost between them, yet there was a surge of… hope? A flicker of warmth at the familiarity of someone from home, proof that his father had not forgotten him.

Myrtus was the son of his father's favorite concubine. They had grown up together, in a way, but there had always been a separation. The knowledge that Myrtus was illegitimate, that he was not a royal son like Patroclus, had forced him into the shadows. He was younger than Patroclus, but both looked and acted older. He had always been a favorite at court in Opus, something he worked to his advantage as long as Patroclus had known him. Being a bastard, Myrtus had been forced to utilize his cunning and quick wit to stay in King Monoetius' favor.

And here he was, addressing Peleus and Achilles with the same confidence Patroclus remembered, his gaze cool and assessing. The three men looked up as Patroclus entered the hall, trying to keep his expression neutral and passive. Patroclus bowed first to Peleus, inclined his head at Achilles, then turned to face his brother.

Peleus nodded in approval, motioning to Myrtus to step closer.

"You must be happy to see your family again, Patroclus," Achilles remarked. Patroclus could not read him.

By then Myrtus had approached, his face stretched in a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He looked at Patroclus for a moment, then moved in to embrace him. Patroclus had never hugged Myrtus in his life. He tried not to stiffen as he returned the embrace, tried not to back away too quickly when it was over.

"Brother, I see you are in good health," Patroclus offered.

Myrtus raised an eyebrow, looking almost impressed. The old Patroclus would have had a thousand questions, would have struggled to hide his anxiety at Myrtus' arrival.

It was not appropriate to admit the visit was a surprise, and if there was one thing Machaon had accomplished, it was to ensure the proper way to behave and react had been effectively drilled into Patroclus' skull for the rest of his life.

"I see that you are as well, Patroclus. It will be a comfort to our lord father. He was most anxious to hear tidings." Myrtus never took his eyes off Patroclus, and his piercing gaze was too much like their father's. _Don't look away, don't you dare look away,_ Patroclus admonished himself.

Peleus was beaming, apparently oblivious to the unspoken words between the brothers, though Achilles had undoubtedly noticed and watched them wordlessly, his expression considering. Patroclus sometimes forgot Achilles had no siblings, none to love or resent.

"Well, we must celebrate your arrival with a feast, Prince Myrtus! A reunion between two brothers is not to be taken lightly." Peleus' voice rang out across the hall. They bowed to him, and were dismissed.

"He wants to see you before the festivities tonight," Machaon announced later, unsurprisingly. The ambassador was pacing the length of Patroclus' quarters, while Podalirius eyed him nervously and Briseis fussed over several different tunics she had laid out on the bed.

"He's here to check up on me then?" Patroclus had already guessed this.

He hadn't realized how much time had passed since the first day he had set foot in Phthia. Between the wedding, the return of Peleus' troops from the northern campaign, and the Crocus Festival, it was getting close to a year.

 _A year._ And still no sign of an heir. That was why Myrtus was here.

"The alliance isn't secured until I have fulfilled my obligations as Royal Consort. Myrtus is here to see that through." Not a surprising revelation, but still. It hadn't crossed his mind that his father would push that far.

Machaon nodded approvingly in response.

"It was what I suspected, your highness. The fact that it was Myrtus your father sent shows he is getting impatient, but I can't imagine what warranted it. King Peleus has shown no inclination of overturning the alliance. And the year is not yet up."

Patroclus could not help but think perhaps Myrtus had something to do with it. With Patroclus out of the picture, Myrtus and his other half-brothers would be in competition for the throne. Myrtus would be reaching for every resource he had - including taking the initiative to oversee his father's political alliances and relationships with other kingdoms. He had always been calculating, in that way.

"I will speak with him," Patroclus sighed.

Briseis held up a brilliantly decorated robe for him to wear, but he shook his head.

"I will see Myrtus as I am."

He went to the doorway to tell Antilochus to summon Myrtus to his quarters.

Machaon, Podalirius, and Briseis had left the room, but Patroclus knew Antilochus and Automedon were standing outside, separated only by the wall, when Myrtus arrived. It gave him some small comfort. He had grown rather fond of Antilochus, whose cheery disposition often brightened the mood, and Automedon. What was there to say? Their love took root, quietly, and in the dark, but it was there. Each unspoken word and gesture passed between them when they met each other's eyes as they walked the hallways, and Automedon would smile to himself, some secret smile only Patroclus knew.

The look Myrtus gave him was long and assessing. There was a new light in his eyes, one Patroclus could not identify. Patroclus suddenly felt vulnerable in his thin shift and dressing gown, fresh from the bath, his hair loose. He knew he looked weak and foolish to Myrtus, but forced himself to sit up straight and look his brother in the eye.

"You can tell him there's nothing to worry about. Peleus is satisfied. There is no threat to our alliance." Patroclus didn't waste time, knowing Myrtus hadn't come to exchange pleasantries. They were no longer in the audience hall, and this was his brother. He was a Royal Consort of Phthia, and could speak as he pleased.

Myrtus smiled a little, and looked around the room. He ignored Patroclus in that infuriating way of his, part of why they had never been close.

"I trust he's been fucking you well enough?"

It was so much like Myrtus to say the most crass thing that came to mind, and Patroclus didn't know why it still worked to catch him off guard. He stiffened, and cursed himself when Myrtus saw and threw a lazy smirk at him.

Myrtus gestured at the ornate finery of the chambers.

"I can tell father you're being kept here with trappings good enough for a favorite whore. That will satisfy him, I'm sure."

Patroclus shook his head.

"Don't speak to me like that."

Myrtus didn't acknowledge that statement, striding around to examine the tapestries on the walls.

"Why are you here?" Patroclus finally asked. "Did you convince him that I'm not doing my duty? I haven't even been given a year, Myrtus, you can't expect there to be a child just yet."

Myrtus was beginning to look bored. "If you're doing what you're supposed to be doing, I shouldn't have to convince father of anything."

Patroclus sighed. "You know I understand how important this alliance is. Father sent me here, after all. At least tell him I'm doing my best."

"I wanted to see how you were living, Patroclus. Of course, you've never wanted for anything, have you? Even poor Briseis had to trek all the way over here to wait on you hand and foot."

"Is that all you came here to say?"

"We'll have plenty of time to talk. Better save your appetite for tonight." Myrtus turned and left the room. Always had the last word, that one. Patroclus quelled his fears of whatever else Myrtus had left unsaid. The conversation was obviously not over, but knowing Myrtus, he would want to keep Patroclus on the edge of his seat, unguarded and nervous, until he could control the conversation again.

Patroclus looked down at his hands, which had started to go numb. It didn't matter whose consort he was, the fact that he didn't belong to the royal house of Opus anymore. Myrtus would always have some sort of power over him, the product of years of contempt and Patroclus' lack of composure. He didn't notice Antilochus peeking into the room.

"Um, your highness?"

Patroclus started. "Oh, Antilochus. What is it?"

Antilochus met his eyes, and the look of concerned discomfort on the young guard's face made Patroclus' stomach clench in embarrassment, at the likelihood that Antilochus had heard most of the exchange. If Antilochus had heard it … Patroclus' thoughts drifted to the other man who had stood outside the entire time and would know too.

"Would you like me to tell Briseis and Machaon that they can come back in?" Antilochus supplied. He had quickly schooled his expression into a neutral smile, probably noticing Patroclus' unease.

"Yes, thank you." Patroclus sighed in relief when Antilochus left.

Peleus had spared no expense with the banquet that night. There was the usual music, courtiers, platters of food and ever-flowing wine. Podalirius had been excited at the prospect that Patroclus could try out his dancing skills, but Patroclus was really not up for it.

Briseis had dressed him even more splendidly than she had for Myrtus' reception. It was making a point, Patroclus thought. Peleus was obviously seizing a chance to display Phthia's wealth to their new ally, and Patroclus was a part of it too, dressing more ostentatiously than he ever had in Opus. Briseis knew what she was doing. Not for the first time, he felt a burst of gratitude at her constant looking out for him.

The feast passed by in a haze, and Patroclus quietly excused himself as soon as he could. He needed Automedon, suddenly, in that moment.

Automedon was waiting for him in their spot, as though he had guessed at Patroclus' thoughts. The cloud of worry that had been hanging over Patroclus since Myrtus' arrival melted away as soon as he saw the other man. He grinned and leapt into Automedon's arms, burying his face in the broad chest.

Looking up, he met Automedon's apprehensive gaze.

"Are you alright?" Automedon asked, slowly.

Patroclus looked at him, unwilling to let his hands fall away.

"I will be. Don't worry about me."

He tried smiling, but it didn't work when Automedon's bearing did not change.

His eyes were suddenly wet, and alarmed, he pulled at his sleeve to dry them before Automedon could see.

But of course, he saw.

His brow deepening in a frown, Automedon reached out to cradle Patroclus' jaw, fingertips brushing against his ear.

"If there was something to make you feel better, Patroclus."

"No, no. I said not to worry." A tear escaped then, and Automedon brushed it away.

"You didn't deserve any of the cruel words he said."

 _Why couldn't Patroclus stop crying?_ He hadn't wanted this, hadn't wanted Automedon to know what had passed between him and his brother. Yet Automedon knowing seemed to release a great pressure that had built up in his chest, one that was bone-deep.

He'd never spoken to anyone about this, not even Briseis, who was cautious and tense around Myrtus but did not have the power to speak out of her place. She had known, tried to shield Patroclus from the solitude of his own home, the spite that had colored his relations with people who were supposed to be his family.

It was this solitude that followed him wherever he went, would not let him go even when he had made something of a home in a foreign land. Looking at Automedon, he felt for the first time a stillness in his spirit, like a calming of the waves when the storm clouds cleared.

Patroclus took Automedon's hands in his, ignoring the tears.

"No, I didn't deserve it. But it doesn't matter anymore. He thinks I'm alone here, and I'm not."

"No you're not, love. I would not let you be alone." Automedon allowed a small smile then, brushing Patroclus' hair behind his ear so he could place a kiss on his neck.

Patroclus leaned against the other man, using Automedon's sleeve to wipe away the last of his tears, and swore to himself silently, that these would be the last Myrtus would ever draw out from him.

In the morning, Achilles summoned Patroclus to his quarters. Myrtus had made preparations to leave for Opus, and it seemed Achilles would not let him go before having a chance to speak with them both.

His expression was sober as Patroclus arrived, Myrtus not far behind.

"I thought we should have a chance to talk before you head back to your homeland," Achilles stated, lounged casually in his sitting room. He hadn't bothered to dress at all, still in his robe, the one he had worn on their wedding night.

Myrtus looked torn between irritation and wariness at the prince. Achilles was everything Myrtus was not, after all. The fact that Achilles was able to summon them at whim without even having to get up spoke volumes of his power.

"It is most considerate of you, lord husband," Patroclus replied pleasantly, glancing at Myrtus.

Achilles threw a smile in Patroclus' direction but did not take his eyes off Myrtus.

"It doesn't go unnoticed that you showed up here unannounced. My men have spoken to Machaon, the ambassador for your king, and he claims he had no word of your impending arrival. Tell me, Prince Myrtus …"

Patroclus caught Myrtus' inward wince at Achilles' use of _prince._ Myrtus was not a prince, not really. He had no royal titles, even now after their father had decided to look towards a new line of succession. Achilles knew and was using it to disarm him.

It made Patroclus look at Achilles then, really look at him. Until then, everything he had seen of Achilles had been his good nature, his lazy confidence, his celebrity status among his men. But in that moment, Patroclus caught a glimpse of the astute mind behind Achilles' easy charm.

"... is it not enough that the ambassador advises Patroclus?"

Myrtus seemed taken aback.

"My lord … I have no quarrel with Machaon's abilities as an advisor to your consort. I am here on behalf of my father, who wishes to ensure the friendship between Opus and Phthia is as strong as ever."

"Have we done anything to suggest otherwise?" Achilles was smiling now, but the look in his eyes hinted at a need to tread carefully.

"Of course not, your highness. I did not mean to imply such a thing. Phthia is our ally, and I am sure my father will be pleased to hear of this."

"Wonderful. Bring your father my regards, then. And I suppose Patroclus will want you to take a message to him as well?" Achilles turned towards Patroclus expectantly.

"I … Well, I didn't think of -" Patroclus started, but Achilles abruptly rose from his seat.

"I will give you a moment to speak alone. My father has arranged for a party to send Myrtus off, and you have time until then." His arm brushed Patroclus' waist as he walked by, leaving the room.

Myrtus slowly rounded on Patroclus.

"What message do you wish me to take to our father?" his voice was tight, the undercurrents of rage not quite concealed.

"Nothing. I don't have anything to say to father." Patroclus frowned, looking at the doorway Achilles had left through, suddenly at a loss on what this meeting had been for except as a display of power and to unsettle Myrtus.

"So now you're not in Opus anymore, you go running off to whisper to your prince as soon as my back is turned?"

"I haven't -" Patroclus began to protest, only to have Myrtus cut him off.

"You seem to be gravely mistaken about something, Patroclus. All those years in our father's house should have taught you, but I suppose you've forgotten."

Myrtus crept closer then, so close their faces were almost touching.

"Being married to that princeling does not make you worth anything."

Patroclus froze, whatever armor he had conjured to shield himself against Myrtus' attacks quickly dissolving. He steeled himself, meeting Myrtus' eyes.

"And you think running errands for father will make you king?"

The blow was swift, and threw Patroclus off-balance. His head snapped to one side, but he didn't let himself fall. He collected himself and straightened to face Myrtus again, however sore his face was, heat rushing up as the blood trickled from his nose and lip.

Myrtus approached him again but Patroclus didn't flinch. He would not fight back, had never fought back when Myrtus got like this. But now Myrtus would have to do it while looking him in the eye.

"You won't lay your hands on me again."

Myrtus sneered and caught Patroclus around the throat, bringing him close to whisper in his ear.

"I will do as I please. The day will come when you are on your knees before me, and don't you forget it." He tightened his hold so Patroclus was near-choking, then released him. He left without a word.

Patroclus steadied his breaths, finding a chair to sit in. Myrtus would not come again, he was sure. Whatever had happened with Achilles had humiliated him enough to resort to violence.

Mulling over this, Patroclus slowly rose to go back to his own chambers. He would not attend the sending off party, he decided. Turning to leave through one of the side entrances, he froze to see Achilles leaning against a pillar, watching him, head tilted to one side, his gaze silently appraising.


	11. Chapter 11

This story is now completed and has been transferred to Archive of Our Own, under the same title, author name Habur.

Thank you!


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